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I smiled after reading the quote, appreciating Alexander’s attention to detail by citing my favorite poet.

I was about to put the card back into the envelope when I noticed a blue velvet satchel tied around the vase’s neck.

What’s this?

However, I predicted the answer to the question almost as soon as I thought it. Knowing Alexander wouldn’t take back his gift of the necklace, I had decided to forgo any sort of argument by simply leaving it on his dresser the morning he left for Boston. Apparently, this was his way of turning the tables on me.

Loosening the drawstring tie from the cloth bag, I dumped the contents into my palm. Just as I expected, out poured the platinum triskelion and chain. It was then that I understood the reason for the Maya Angelou quote—Alexander wasn’t only referring to the flowers, but all of his gifts.

In the face of his sweet gestures, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad about it. It would be so much easier to simply accept everything Alexander had to offer, but I didn’t feel right about it. I sensed he wanted more from me, but there were some things I couldn’t give—at least not without compromising my standards.

I’m at a crossroads.

One path would have me push Alexander away to create more distance between us. He may not like it, and it could potentially lead to our demise. It would be a risky choice because I knew I wasn’t ready for things to end.

But if I chose the other, I would become deeper involved. I’d expect more from Alexander and would want him to be more open about the secrets I knew he was carrying. From the history of his parents to his underground life, everything was a mystery to me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to continue without answers. However, that path had its risks, too, as it may force me to reveal my own truth.

The prospect of facing that pain frightened me, for giving up my secret would hurt me in ways physical submission never could. The choice should have been an obvious one, knowing I didn’t have the strength to handle the latter. However, I couldn’t decide what to do—for emotional surrender was my only true hard limit.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Alexander

The conference was going relatively well, even if it was boring as all hell, and I arrived back at my hotel room shortly after dinnertime. I considered going out to the Faneuil Hall area with Burke in search of a bite to eat but decided on the solitude of room service instead. I didn’t feel like keeping company with my old friend but rather wished I had pushed Krystina harder about coming to Boston.

A short rap on the hotel room door signaled the arrival of dinner. I opened the door to find a pretty brunette balancing two platters. I was absently wondering how she managed to knock with her hands full when I noticed the trays balancing precariously in her small hands.

I was dangerously close to wearing stuffed flounder and hollandaise sauce.

“Here, let me take one of those,” I offered, removing a tray from her wavering grasp.

“Thank you, sir,” she said with a sigh of relief.

We both entered the room and set the trays on the small dinette set in the suite’s living room.

“Do yourself a favor and use a cart of some sort next time,” I told her, fishing out my wallet to get her a tip.

“Oh, yes,” she readily agreed. “I’ll make sure to use one the next time I come up. Will you be staying here long? Um, Mr.…”

She sounded giddy, almost schoolgirlish. My head snapped up to look at her. I was all too familiar with her tone. She was watching me with a pair of innocent doe eyes, but this girl was anything but naïve and was obviously looking to score more than a tip.

I pursed my lips in annoyance, choosing not to answer her. I handed her a twenty.

Be on your way, doll. That’s all you’re going to get.

“Thank you,” I told her, albeit dismissively.

She looked momentarily disappointed but took the dismissal in stride and left me alone to enjoy my dinner in peace. The transparency of some women floored me at times, and I suddenly had a newfound appreciation for Krystina’s ambiguous personality.

I wasn’t impressed by the hotel fare. The flounder was overcooked, and the sauce was flavorless. I began to regret my choice not to accompany Burke to one of the more notable seafood restaurants in the city. As I swallowed the last bite of the rubbery fish, my phone pinged with the notification of a new email. I pushed the plate away and pulled out my cell.

It was a confirmation notice stating the flower delivery was received. The time stamp on the message told me it was just after seven, which meant Krystina should be home from Wally’s.

I’ll try calling her now. Maybe she’ll actually pick up this time.

Exiting out of the email, I dialed Krystina’s number.

“Hello, angel,” I said after she answered. It felt so good to hear the sound of her voice.